I heard the sounds of machines. Pumping. Breathing. Nearby. And, in the distance. The murmur of voices. Professional voices. Clustered somewhere close. Close enough to hear the occasional word. Phrases. Sentences. I didn’t understand the sentences, the phrases. But I did understand the words. Especially one.
My name. Why were they speaking my name? Why were they talking about me? Why?
I wanted to move. Couldn’t. I felt I was sitting up. Leaning against something. Something was stuck in my left arm. Above the elbow.
I tried to open my eyes. Tried to force my eyelids open. Tried to raise my arm to pry my lids open. My left arm was trapped. Tried to lift my right arm. Trapped. I opened my mouth …
Pre-publication Excerpt, Draft, All Rights Reserved – Lyle T. Lachmuth